Mark was no longer certain about the nature of Janet's interest in him. She'd boldly made him aware of her surprisingly strong interest in him a few weeks ago. But he had still managed to turn her lightly masked offer of herself into mere idle playfulness between the two of them.
For weeks now, Mark had stubbornly taken the same playful tack with her each time she had renewed her offer.
"I've been thinking all along that Janet would soon get over it", he reflected while swirling the ice cubes in his scotch glass, "All the others did, and..." He suddenly hoped, more than he actually thought, that none of the others had been too disappointed.
Mark noticed the cubes. They hadn't melted much since his last refill. That meant he was drinking too fast this evening -- but he didn't really care either. Not tonight.
Momentarily, Mark felt tired. Tired not just of Janet's efforts, but tired of the efforts a half-dozen other women had made to seduce him since the divorce from his abusive wife. "This must be how some virgin girls feel when they realize yet another man wants their virginity more than he wants them", he thought, "They must feel tired."
His actual tiredness passed quickly, though, and Mark felt relieved it hadn't lingered.
He liked Janet. Honestly liked her. He liked her free spirit, her kindness, her wit, and her intelligence most of all. She was physically attractive to him, too, and he admired the effort she put into keeping her mid-30s body fit. "Running miles nearly every day. But, god, how does she manage to do it barefoot?"
Mark thoroughly enjoyed thinking about Janet; enjoyed trying to see the world as she saw it.
"I might like her too much", he thought then. "I've let my hopes get the better of me before, and it's never been for the good." He sensed his ex-wife's petty, but vicious, cruelties looming in the shadows of his mind, threatening to become fully remembered. "Janet's not like that!", he thought, almost saying it aloud. To further distract himself, he unnecessarily focused on raising his bottle, closely examining its contents, and then slowly pouring another drink.
It wasn't that he took actual offense when some woman decided his unavailability would be a pleasant challenge for her to overcome. It was just that he recognized how there was nothing in that for him. Nothing he needed, that is. For when you really came down to it, all they were offering him was a shallow fling -- just enough humping in the backwoods to satisfy their need for affirmation, or whatever need it was. "It's no better, actually, than being wanted for your virginity, or for your money, or for anything else that's not really you.", Mark reflected for perhaps the thousandth time since his divorce.
Maybe it would be different if he needed the sex. When he left his wife, he at first feared he would soon be miserable with unfulfilled yearnings. Yet, he'd then been surprised to notice how easily he satisfied himself. "What I miss...", Mark began carefully, making an effort to think with precision, for the scotch was beginning to affect him, "...are the little intimacies. The petite intimacies. The very ones you don't really recall so easily. Like when the two of you are so comfortable with each other that she's not embarrassed to sing to herself. Or when the two of you are on such intimate terms that she feels she can walk around the house nude without being made self-conscious by you watching her."
Mark's thoughts returned to Janet. Was he misreading her? Could she be genuinely interested in him? He knew she herself would swear to it. Just earlier that day, she had told him blatantly that she liked him for himself.
But Mark also knew how easily and frequently people confused themselves. Maybe Janet had confused herself. If so, she would dump him after a brief fling. "And that's the crux of it", he thought, "I want her. I want everything about her. I have never in my life felt someone is so impossibly right for me. Hell, I didn't even feel as strongly about my ex before we were married as I do about Janet."
"And because I want her as much as I do, there's no way on earth I can get at all involved -- not even a little involved -- with her without my falling entirely headlong, head over heels, headfirst, heart-first...", he suddenly stopped, realizing he was drunk.
"That's the crux of it", he reminded himself after a few moments. He could imagine some part of him dying forever if he got involved with her, and then she left him. "Anyone else but Janet...different story, then. Anyone but Janet, I'd take the risk."
The thought now came to him that he should find some words, the right words, to say to Janet. Words that would make her stop pursuing him. Final words, goodbye words, words that he should speak to her soon. "Words wait for tomorrow", he thought, "Must sleep first."
_____________________________________
The next day at work, Mark spent the morning suffering mildly from a hangover that he tried to alleviate by drinking cup after cup of coffee. He was making his way to the office pot when he noticed Janet already there. Somehow, he sensed she might be waiting for him.
"You look like a caged tiger", she greeted him, "with half your senses dulled."
"But you look beautiful", he spontaneously replied, quite unable to help himself, for it was true: Janet looked beautiful to him. But he thought, "That certainly has not paved the way for what I must say to her!"
"If you keep telling me I'm beautiful, I'll start thinking of both of our tastes the next time I go shopping for underwear", she replied in a voice lowered so the rest of the office couldn't hear her.
"About that, Janet...", Mark knew he should wait for a better day. A day when he was thinking clearly enough to be entirely tactful, but he'd reached a decision the night before, and he wanted to get it over with. "I'm actually uncomfortable with...I mean, I would prefer we kept our relationship professional. Really professional."
The look that now overcame Janet's face wounded Mark to his core. Suddenly, he realized all too well how Janet's feelings might mean more to him than his own fears for himself. "Forget what I said! Just forget it!", he said desperately.
"No, I can't. You meant it." Janet's lips trembled as she spoke the words.
Mark desperately searched his dulled mind for the words, the right words. "If you can't forget what I said, then at least forgive me for it", he felt he was stumbling, but he was determined to stumble on, if that's what it took, "I won't be able to live with myself if I've hurt you."
"You have hurt me, Mark. But maybe you have a right to hurt me. I've been a fool to push you, as if you had no real right to decide for yourself what was best for you."
Mark now put his every hope for Janet into one last effort, but all that came out at first was, "Janet."
She looked at him expectantly, the pain all too evident in her face.
"Janet, I think we need to talk. Really talk. And not here. Please come to supper with me tonight. I need you to let me straighten this out. And I need you to hear something from me. Something that might surprise you."
Janet suddenly smiled at him through her pain. He sensed she was making an effort -- an effort to have faith in him. "Well", she said, "if you'll come by at seven tonight, I'll be curious enough about your surprise to go to supper with you."
"Seven it is", Mark said, feeling just as relieved and grateful as a drowning man thrown a rope. After a moment's pause, he gently reached his hand out to her forehead, and tenderly, silently, and completely unnecessarily, brushed a stray strand of her hair back into place.
